


On Loss and Possession

by Spiderlily_Writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Background character survival ambiguity, CF!Marianne, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimson Flower AU: Byleth never returns, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Dubcon, Eventual Sexual Content, F/F, Imprisonment, Marianne isn't quite right, This fic is going to contain whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: In an alternate universe where Marianne stood with Edelgard after the events of the Holy Mausoleum, intent on creating a better world by her side, Hilda was left behind. Now, years later, Marianne plans to ensure that she will never lose Hilda again. (Note: This fic WILL contain graphic depictions of abuse, gaslighting, and dubcon elements. Reader discretion is advised.)
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	On Loss and Possession

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags and summary!  
> That said, I hope you enjoy this first chapter, a taste of what's to come!

Hilda has never been an expert strategist, but she’s pretty sure this move doesn’t make a lick of sense.

It’s not that she  _ minds _ , per se, because the strange circling-and-weaving path that Edelgard’s ‘Black Eagle Strike Force’ is taking through Derdriu is one that keeps her out of harm’s way. Even so, she can’t help but wonder what they’re planning. Hilda has known Claude for far too long to believe in anything that seems too good to be true.

Their reinforcements have arrived already; Claude somehow managed to drag Nader into this, and his fliers have landed in groups on ships out to the east. Even with the extra strength, though, it’s not looking good for her and dear ol’ Claude today.

Their forces on the edges of the city have all been routed, driven inward, and while there are a good few survivors (Hilda’s proud that the troops know when to fight and when to run), Hubert’s tactical prowess and Edelgard’s iron-fisted leadership are enough to make her begin to think that maybe they’re not gonna win this one. Normally, that’s okay, they can withdraw and live to fight another day. Claude’s usually pretty good about that, always leaving them a backdoor and giving them somewhere to go to safety, but this is as far as they can pull back. 

Derdriu is  _ it _ .

Hilda chews her lip as she begins to confront the very real possibility that she might die here. It’s a chilling thought. She’s always known, academically, that it’s possible for her to die in battle, but she’s always been leagues above anyone else she’s gone toe-to-toe with, and it’s left her feeling invincible. Today, that self-concept is starting to crack, and she  _ hates _ it. 

She casts her gaze behind her, off to the east, where Claude has holed up to give orders and manage the battle from wyvern-back. _What would he do?_ _What would he want_ me _to do?_ _He probably wouldn’t tell me to make some kind of stupid-ass heroic last stand, right?_

One of the troops jogs across the square toward her; she can tell by his uniform that he’s one of those who had been stationed on the second line of defense, and his report confirms her suspicion. The strike force has pressed inward, circling up as if they were forming a noose to hang her with.

“What do we do, Lady Goneril?” he asks, and she steels herself, trying not to show how afraid she is. She forces flippancy into her tone, something to give the man some sense that things haven’t gone completely south yet, but it doesn’t sound natural, even to her.

“Well, I guess we should probably go link up with Claude and his people. No sense in standing around and dying, right?” she says, leaning on the haft of Freikugel, the head of which is planted firmly on the ground. She checks her nails idly. “Go get whichever of your people you still have and follow me back.”

“But...and pardon my frankness, Lady Goneril,” the nervous man begins, “doesn’t it seem like that’s exactly what they want us to do? They’re pushing in at the edges and-”

Hilda cuts him off. He’s right, but there isn’t another option. Not one, at least, that doesn’t involve them dying in some pointless standoff to hold a marketplace. “I told you to go get your people and follow me,” Hilda interrupts, then takes a deep breath to keep herself from shaking any more visibly than she already is. “Make it  _ happen _ .”

The man hesitates, but he does as she ordered, and Hilda wonders for the millionth time how Claude managed to convince people to follow  _ her _ into battle.

“Claude,” she mumbles under her breath as she picks up Freikugel and hefts it onto her shoulder, beginning the long, long march to the one safe place in Derdriu. “I  _ sure _ hope you know what you’re doing.”

Not for the first time, Hilda wonders about her former classmates as she walks. Some of them have gone home to manage their own territories, and she can hardly blame them. When this all started, Hilda had certainly considered it; just leave Claude to his schemes and go home, hole up on the Goneril Estate and wait for it all to be over. But no. During their time at Garreg Mach,  _ fucking _ Claude von Riegan had managed to worm his way into her heart, and she could never have lived with herself if she’d left him.

Leonie and Ignatz had stayed with them as well, and they had been charged with the defense of Myrddin. She wonders what they’re doing right now, but if the Imperials have made it all the way to Derdriu,  _ something _ happened over there. Hilda hopes they had the sense to run, but knowing them, it wasn’t likely. Leonie wouldn’t abandon her post, and Ignatz loved his friends too dearly to abandon Leonie. She can’t really call him an idiot, given she’s throwing her own life down a gutter to try to protect Claude.

She wonders, too, about Lysithea. She’d been in Derdriu when the assault began, and she’d been positioned closer to the city gates than Hilda. Given her pretty iffy constitution, Hilda had tried to convince her to stay close, but Lysithea being Lysithea, she’d insisted on being the first line of defense. 

“They won’t get past me,” Lysithea had said, confident, defiant, and now the strike force is closing in. Right. Not a chance.

And Marianne...well, Hilda suspects she’ll see Marianne soon enough. She chokes back tears, reminding herself that now isn’t really the time, but even now, even _years_ later, the betrayal is a knife in the gut. Marianne, walking away from all of them, walking away from _her_ , to stand with Edelgard. She doesn’t suspect it’ll ever stop hurting.

She stops just shy of Claude’s little platform, her soldiers in tow behind her. There’s far fewer than she would like, even after her orders to round up all of the survivors. There’s too few soldiers, all told, even considering their Almyran reinforcements, for them to do anything of value. She’d been hoping Claude’s reserve forces were more robust and numerous than she thought, more than the handful of archers acting as an informal personal guard.

But no. It’s just her, and him, and a few dozen soldiers, and she’s going to die on a little seaside platform in Derdriu.

Claude looks at her, and his confident, ever-present, cocky smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows it too. He knows they won’t make it out of this one, she can see it on his face as he hops off his wyvern and approaches her. His step lacks the usual swagger, and his eyes, his normally beautiful, expressive eyes are cold. Claude is a man with no cards left to play.

“Report?” he asks, and she can hear the exhaustion in his voice. He’s asking because he should, because that’s how these things are done, but he already knows what she’s going to say. 

Hilda stands tall, her back straight, unbowed, and proud to the soldiers behind her, and she knows that only Claude can see the tears rolling down her cheeks. She swallows the lump in her throat before she speaks. “This is it. This is what we have.”

Claude nods solemnly, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath before opening them again.

He brings Hilda and her soldiers onto the island, and gives her troops instructions to hold the line as best they can. He organizes them, talks to each one, does his best to raise morale, tells them that it’s okay, that they’ll make it out just fine if he has any say. It’s moments like this, Hilda thinks, that really show why Claude deserves to be a leader. It’s moments like this that reinforce how unfit  _ she _ is, too, because while he’s trying to take control as much as he can, she’s standing behind them all, crying like a lost child.

Once he’s done, and they have their orders, he turns back to her. Claude walks away from the mass of soldiers, and beckons for her to follow with an incline of his head. She does, of course. What else  _ could _ she do?

He stops after a few dozen paces, once they’re out of sight and earshot of most of their soldiers. Claude looks at her expectantly, and it takes her a moment to find the words. In the end, she settles for simple honesty.

“I’m scared, Claude,” she says, and her voice cracks as she lets Freikugel slip down off her shoulder, resting the head of her axe on the ground. “I’m really, really scared.” Hilda hates how weak she sounds, but she can’t do much about it.

Claude hesitates for just a moment, then steps forward and wraps his arms around her, pulling her close in a firm, protective embrace. She lets him, returning the gesture, holding on tight as though she’s afraid he’ll drift away otherwise. His mouth is an inch away from her ear, and he speaks quietly.

“Me too, Hilda.”

Knowing that he feels the same way makes her feel at least a  _ little _ less wimpy. “Guess this is it.”

“Might be, yeah. I’m proud of you.”

“Proud of you too, big guy.”

They pull apart, and she can’t help but feel like they’re both equally reluctant, but there’s a battle to fight and they can’t run away from it by hugging. Claude gives her a rough, companionate clap on the shoulder. “Are you with me Hilda? I need you to be all here right now.”

She sniffles, and wipes her eyes and nose. Hilda owes him this much at least, and she doesn’t have to wait long. Claude is barely back to his wyvern before the call comes from their defensive line.

“Enemy troops approaching, Lord von Riegan!” 

Hilda sweeps Freikugel off the ground and settles quickly into a defensive stance, scanning the bridge to Derdriu proper, and she’s shocked at what she sees.

Edelgard von Hresvelg herself marches at the front of her army, shield and axe held easily in her hands as though she has not so much as  _ entertained the idea _ that she will have to use them. Their former classmates are spread out just behind her, forming the first full line, and she can make out each one as they come closer.

Her eyes, though, settle on one in particular.

A woman with blue hair, in a long, azure gown, stands with her hands clasped in front of her waist. As they approach, she can see the woman worrying her fingers, fiddling with the bits of her dress that she can reach. Hilda wouldn’t be surprised if the fabric behind her hands is a little crumpled after such treatment.

Her eyes are stronger than Hilda remembers. The permanent dark circles around them are less prevalent now, as though she’s finally been sleeping, and Hilda feels a little joyful flutter at the idea that her lover has found some peace. Not with Hilda, which hurts, but some peace nonetheless.

They approach steadily, and Claude has given the order to hold. He doesn’t seem to know what Edelgard’s play is any more than Hilda does, and the forces facing them are so overwhelmingly powerful that Claude clearly doesn’t want to give an order that he’ll regret. So he waits, and Hilda waits with him, relaxing her stance and approaching the back line with her axe in hand.

Hilda watches the face of the woman she loved- No. The woman she  _ loves,  _ because damn it all, she would be lying if she claimed to have ever stopped. She watches the comprehension dawn on Marianne’s face as Edelgard’s troops stop scarcely a short stone’s throw away.

Marianne’s hand slowly rises to cover her mouth, as though in horror. Surely she knew Hilda would be here, but just as seeing Marianne shakes Hilda to her core, she’s sure it does the same to Marianne. Hilda doesn’t speak as their eyes meet, but she doesn’t look away. She holds Marianne’s gaze and without a word, she says all of the things she’s never dared to speak.

_ You left me. You walked away from us. I loved you. You abandoned me. I still love you. _

The anguish plain on Marianne’s face is her answer, and it makes agony coil tight around her heart, a pain so raw and horrible she feels like she might throw up.

_ I know. _

Hilda tears her eyes away, though the effort it takes to do so nearly causes her physical pain. She looks back to Edelgard, who is striding forward across the small bridge and directly toward their meager defensive line as though she’s out for a stroll in her garden, and not crossing the no-man’s land between two armies.

She comes to a half halfway between the groups, and her voice is a clarion call. It’s more powerful than Hilda remembers, stern, hard, and with a cold edge that it never had before. It’s enough to make Hilda  _ literally _ shake in her boots.

“Lord Claude von Riegan of the Leicester Alliance!” she bellows, and the force of it sets Hilda back on her heels. Hilda looks to Claude, sitting proud on the back of his wyvern, sees him hesitate, then watches him dismount with his usual, casual grace. He evidently trusts the soldiers to ensure his safety as he nudges his way to the front of the line to meet her.

Hilda knows what Edelgard’s going to do; it’s what she’s done in every territory that the Empire has brought to heel, though this is her first victory of this scale. She is going to offer Claude a choice. She always offers, and though Hilda has heard that the responses are mixed, there are only two outcomes. 

Submit, or die.

Those who elect to submit are spared and become part of the war machine rolling across Fodlan. Hilda doesn’t really blame anyone who chose to do so; by the time Edelgard is close enough to offer, their towns and cities are already broken and in flames. Resistance is not an option.

There is, of course, the other choice. If someone decides they won’t bend their knee to the Adrestian Empire, they are executed on the spot, and Edelgard takes their territory by force. Easy as that.

These surrenders are not conditional. There is no negotiation, there are no terms. There is only that one, simple choice. Submit, or die. She’s pretty sure she knows what Claude will do. He’s not going to throw away his life, or the lives of his soldiers...or her life, for that matter. She’s pretty sure, at least. Claude is proud, but he’s not proud enough to let it get him killed.

What Edelgard does next strikes her like a bolt of lightning. She calls out again, and she looks Hilda in the eye as she does it. “Lady Hilda Valentine Goneril!” she demands, and it takes a moment for Hilda to process her command, her mind racing. _What?_ _Me?_ _Why me?_

Hilda does as ordered, though, just as Claude had, because she doesn’t really have a choice, and now if she tries to back away, flee, or fight, Claude is in danger too. She takes a step forward, and another, pressing through the strange, almost dissociative numbness that has set in around her. She might be walking to her death, after all, and that’s not something she prepared for when she woke up this morning.

She reaches the back of their line, and once more, the soldiers part to let her through. There’s a part of her that hopes, vainly, that they won’t move, that they’ll hold her back and keep her away from the danger. Hilda pushes the thought away. Cowardly. She can’t afford that. She takes her place right next to Claude and looks Edelgard in the eye defiantly, head held high, and hopes that Edelgard can’t see her shaking.

It doesn’t feel like such a long time ago that they were all students together, she considers. She remembers passing Edelgard in the dining hall, remembers sparring with her on the training grounds, and she can almost taste, once again, the electricity that had been in the air during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. It’s almost enough to make her laugh, thinking about how deadly accurate a prediction that mock battle had been.

Claude speaks, and she’s thankful for that. She doesn’t know that she could, right now. His tone is smooth and even, and he’s wearing that impassive mask of leadership once again. “Emperor Edelgard. What can I do for you?” he asks, the casualness of the question belying their current peril. “I’d offer you tea, but I’m a little light on resources at the moment.”

Edelgard doesn’t laugh, nor does she become angry with him for being so candid. She barely even blinks as she regards Claude, her stern, imperious air nearly physically oppressive. It weighs on Hilda so hard that it’s a struggle to breathe, and Edelgard doesn’t even seem to notice that Hilda is  _ there _ .

“You know what I am here for, Claude. You know what I’m going to ask you,” she says, and Hilda notices, out of the corner of her eye, Edelgard’s grip tightening on that axe in her hand.

“I had some idea, yeah. I’ve heard you’re giving Anna a run for her money, with the deals you’ve been  _ cutting _ people all over Fodlan,” Claude replies, and this time there’s a note of bitterness behind his words. “Join you or die, right?”

She nods once, sharp and businesslike. “ _ Submit _ or die, actually. There is a difference.” Edelgard’s eyes flicker over to where Hilda is standing, then she looks at Claude again. “In your case, Claude, you’re too dangerous to be allowed to act independently. You’ll be returning to Enbarr with me. As will Lady Goneril.”

This seems to surprise Claude as much as it does Hilda, and his eyes narrow as he speaks both of their minds. “Why Hilda? What good will she do you?”

“None, actually,” Edelgard says. “I was going to have her executed. She’s almost as dangerous as you are, and her death wouldn’t harm my attempts at diplomacy with Almyra. Such things happen in war.”

The way she says it, the matter-of-fact way in which she talks about ending Hilda’s life, is enough to chill Hilda to the bone. She feels dizzy, as though she might fall over as the enormity of the statement sinks in. Edelgard was going to kill her. Execute her.

Wait.  _ Was _ .

“And now what?” Hilda demands, speaking for the first time since they began their parlay. “You were going to have me executed, but now you’re not? What changed?” She knows she sounds more than a bit panicked, but she figures she can be excused for a little impropriety, given the circumstances. 

Edelgard turns to regard her, and to her surprise, answers. “A personal request from Marianne von Edmund. She told me that she will take you into her custody and assume responsibility for you.”

Hilda blinks. Marianne? Responsibility? She turns her gaze toward Marianne, who stands patiently and quietly on the front line behind Edelgard. She’s only about thirty paces away, close enough that Hilda could hear if she spoke. Marianne looks at her, and Hilda can see the resolve in her eyes, behind the pain she’s already glimpsed there. Resolve, and...love.

Marianne moves her mouth, and although she doesn’t make a sound, she’s close enough that Hilda can make out the one word on her lips. She can almost hear it, her memory vividly filling in the gaps left by Marianne’s silence.

_ “Please.” _

Hilda hesitates. Can she trust Marianne? She could, back at Garreg Mach, but can she  _ still? _ What choice does she even have? She makes her decision and, still making eye contact with Marianne, gives her the smallest, most imperceptible little nod she can. The relief on the other woman’s face is palpable. She looks back to Edelgard and Claude.

“If I go with you, do you guarantee safe passage for my soldiers, and sanctuary for the people of Derdriu?” Claude asks, breaking the silence.

“You are not in a position to make demands, Claude,” Edelgard replies, frowning.

Claude sighs, and he sounds so  _ tired _ . Hilda knows that feeling well. “Edelgard, I’m not making demands. I’m asking you, person to person. Are my people going to be safe?”

She hesitates, as though she’s unwilling to commit, but nods. Claude angles his head toward Hilda. “Hey. Thoughts?”

“I’ll follow your lead, Claude. As always,” she says, half-smiling. He smiles back, and she feels, for a moment, like this all might be okay. She’s got Claude von  _ fucking _ Riegan on her side, after all.

“Alright, Edelgard,” he says, waving for his soldiers to stand down, then going to his knees on the bridge. Hilda does the same. “I guess you got me this time.”

The Emperor gestures with one hand, and Hubert approaches Claude, cautiously, with a length of rope in one hand. The tall, brooding man doesn’t look like he’s afraid, but he’s certainly being more careful than Hilda had ever seen him, and that makes her smile. Even in surrender, Claude’s tricky enough to inspire that kind of wariness.

She expects Hubert to come for her next, but he doesn’t. Rather, she sees Marianne take one slow step forward, then another, and when she sees that nobody is stopping her, Marianne takes off at a run, dashing out from the Imperial army’s line to meet Hilda where she kneels. She’s holding the hem of her dress away from the ground with her hands, careful not to trip, but she’s moving more quickly than Hilda has ever seen her.

Hilda watches her, and she can feel her eyes begin to prickle with tears for what must be the millionth time that day. After it all, even after everything she’s been through, she can’t help the feeling of relief, of utter joy that washes through her as she’s reunited with Marianne. The battle was lost, people have died, and Derdriu is fallen, but she can at least find some solace in this.

Marianne stumbles to a stop before her, looking down into her eyes just as Hilda looks up at her. There’s a million things she wants to say and do as Marianne stands there before her. She wants to hug her, to kiss her, to tell her everything’s going to be okay, to thank her for saving her life today. She wants to cry, to demand to know how she could leave, how she could turn her back on Hilda as she did, how she could walk away from all of her friends.

Hilda sees her reach out, awestruck, with one hand, as though she intends to touch Hilda’s cheek and confirm that she’s real. She gets close enough that Hilda swears she can feel electricity on her hand, but Marianne seems to think better of it at the last moment, drawing away as though she’s been burned, as though she’s afraid of what she’ll feel. Instead, Marianne quickly circles back around behind Hilda, where her hands are crossed at the wrists and waiting. Marianne bought her life today at an unknown cost, and Hilda doesn’t want to risk doing anything to throw that away.

She feels Marianne fumbling with the length of cord she holds, trying to tie it into something resembling a secure binding, and she suspects from the choked, strangled breathing she can hear behind her as the other woman gets increasingly frustrated, that she’s about to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to...I’m sorry, Hilda,” she whispers, sounding near panic.

“Hey, Mari, it’s okay, I promise,” Hilda mutters, trying to sound as soothing as she can as she speaks her first words to Marianne in years. “You’re saving my life. I can handle a little rope-burn if it comes to it.”

Marianne stops and takes a deep breath before resuming. Her movements are more deliberate now, and it only takes a couple of tries before Hilda’s wrists are held tight. She tugs at the bonds to test them. “There. You got it. Should I stand up or- oh!”

Hilda is interrupted as Marianne throws her arms around her from behind, wrapping them around her torso and pulling her tight, then tighter, nearly painfully so, as though she’s loath to ever let go. She’s crying in earnest now, low, anguished sobs making Marianne’s body shake, and she buries her face in Hilda’s back.

“Hilda, I’m so...I’m so sorry, I...” she whimpers, nuzzling closer and mumbling the words into Hilda’s skin. They hit her like an arrow in the chest, and she tries to stay relaxed despite herself. “I never wanted to leave you, but everything happened all at once and...and…”

“Hey, we can talk about it later,” Hilda says, maintaining that same gentle tone. “But I’m here now, right? It’ll be okay.”

Marianne’s grip tightens even more, her nails digging into Hilda’s stomach almost painfully, even through her clothing, and making her gasp. When Marianne speaks again, there’s something strange in her voice that Hilda can hear even through the tears, something icy and intense and fierce. “Y-yes, you’re here now, and you’re safe, and I’ll never  _ ever _ let anything happen to you, Hilda, I promise! I’ll keep you safe, I swear I will.”

Hilda swallows hard, remaining silent, and trying to ignore the feeling of dread creeping up from her stomach and into her chest. She might be a prisoner, but at least she gets to be with Marianne, and that couldn’t be  _ too _ bad, right?

_ Right? _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you'd like to come take me prisoner, find me @spiderlilywrite on twitter.


End file.
